


For You?

by ecrituredelafangirl



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Grantaire doesn't really know how to deal, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, and Enjolras doesn't understand, hunh, i want them to be happy, look there's smut at the end, post first time angsting, this starts off angsting but then gets really cute?, when did this get slightly smutty?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredelafangirl/pseuds/ecrituredelafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post first-time conversation. This couple will slowly kill me with their passion and their darkness and their opposition that somehow melds together deliciously. Grantaire has trouble believing, and Enjolras has trouble understanding. But they get it in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For You?

It was the shaking that woke him. 

He was still warm, in his arms, but he was quaking. Enjolras splayed a gentle hand on his abdomen. He breathed in a lungful of cigarette smoke and tried not to cough as he looked up.

And Grantaire was giving him a smile that looked painful, his eyes red-rimmed and shining, as he held up the cigarette in his hand. 

“I can take this outside. You just looked…so peaceful asleep… I didn’t mean to wake you,” Grantaire said, moving out from underneath him, swinging his legs off the bed. He stood, putting his cigarette between his lips as he pulled his jeans on. “I’m sorry I did.” 

And Enjolras found himself muttering, “It’s fine,” to empty space. And then he found himself alone in bed wondering what the fuck had just happened. He ran a hand through his hair and found that it was annoying him, how it sat on his shoulders. He reached a hand over to his bedside table and found a hair elastic before pulling his hair into a ponytail. His actions were only a shade violent. He was annoyed. 

Grantaire came in a moment later, his hair more of a mess than when he left, his eyes redder. Enjolras found himself staring, trying to understand. 

“Have you been…crying?” he asked. It sounded more flinty than he intended and he watched Grantaire cringe in response. He forced another ugly smile, unlike his real smile in almost every way. Enjolras blinked at him. 

“Ah… No, of course not,” he said. “Why would I be crying?” And something knotted in Enjolras’s chest as he heard the catch in his voice. “I should… I should be going.” 

He reached for his shirt, at the foot of the bed, and Enjolras found himself lunging forward, gripping his forearm. Grantaire glanced at his hand warily. 

“You… You can’t _leave_ ,” Enjolras said. 

And Grantaire looked almost pained when he met Enjolras’s eyes. “What did I do wrong?” Enjolras wanted to ask. The words stuck in his throat. 

“I can,” Grantaire responded. He looked like he wanted to pull his arm from Enjolras’s grip. He took a shaky breath in. He found a hand – hesitant fingers – on his face. A plea with no words in the other man’s eyes. 

“What?” his voice was hoarse, ragged, and he was helpless as he followed the pressure on his arm down into Enjolras’s arms. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Enjolras’s thumb was wiping tears from his face. 

“You _were_ crying,” Enjolras murmured. And he leaned forward, brushed his lips against Grantaire’s cheek. “Why?” he whispered against his cheek. And Grantaire tried to take a deep breath, tried to calm himself enough to say something – anything. He failed and instead made a choked off sobbing sound against Enjolras’s chest. Something dangerously close to unease twisted in Enjolras’s chest. 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad, was it?” he asked, almost a whisper. And the sound Grantaire made sounded _something_ like a laugh. He separated himself enough from Enjolras to stroke gentle fingers along his face. 

“No,” he said, quietly. “Don’t say that.”

“I knew I wasn’t that bad at this,” Enjolras said, serious as ever. But Grantaire let out a low chuckle. 

“Of course not,” he said lowly. And then he looked over Enjolras’s shoulder, something in his gaze far away and sad. Enjolras watched him, the knot in his chest tightening. 

“Are you okay?” he found himself asking. And Grantaire looked around to him. He brought a hand up and wiped at his eyes roughly before nodding.

“I feel great, actually,” he answered. Enjolras raised a single golden eyebrow. Grantaire cringed a bit in response. “I mean, I guess you wouldn’t know it…with the crying…and the emotional wreckage…” 

Enjolras nodded. “You’ll excuse me if I’m a little confused.”

“Definitely excused,” Grantaire murmured. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Enjolras responded. 

There was a moment of silence. And then: “I’m too fucking sober for this.” 

“For what?” Enjolras asked. But Grantaire just looked at him with his red-rimmed eyes. 

“Is there any…”

“Combeferre keeps a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet over the stove,” Enjolras answered, sighing. And Grantaire nodded before heading out of the room. 

And Enjolras was alone again, staring into blank space, an unfamiliar feeling twisting at his insides. What was wrong? What had happened? Why-

And then Grantaire was sinking onto the bed next to him, bourbon bottle in hand. He removed the cork in one smooth movement before taking a long pull. Enjolras wrinkled his nose. 

“Look, I know you don’t approve, but if you’re going to make me talk about my fucking feelings-”

“I never said you had to talk about your feelings.”

“Yes, but I… You asked why I was…crying… And I’m not going to be able to tell you…” And then he held the bottle up. And Enjolras just nodded in response. 

“I just… Did I do something wrong? Can you at least tell me that?” Enjolras said, quietly. And Grantaire made a wounded sound before setting the bottle down – Enjolras couldn’t see where – and taking Enjolras’s face in his hands. 

"Of course not,” Grantaire said. And there was a blazing in his eyes that Enjolras loved. “Of course you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just… I’m a fucking mess, all right?”  
Enjolras just looked at him, a little confused. What the hell was the matter then?

“You’re a fucking mess?” he repeated. 

And Grantaire looked a second away from rolling his eyes. “You knew that.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras answered. “I just don’t understand…”

“I love you,” Grantaire suddenly said, meeting Enjolras’s gaze, something like a challenge in his eyes. “And I have – I’ve been like this probably since I met you. Or something. I don’t know. Because sometimes you can be so _stupid_ and sometimes I get so _angry_ at you, and at myself… For caring, you know? For caring about what you think. Because I shouldn’t…fucking…give a damn. But I always have… Jesus… Even though I tried so hard not to. And always more where you’re concerned. Because, for some fucked up reason, no matter how angry I got with you, I loved you. I love you. I…”

And Enjolras stopped him, leaning forward the spare inch or two between their mouths and kissing him. And Grantaire just made a sound, somewhere between broken and fixed, and melted into it, into him, fingers ghosting over his shoulders unsure of where to pause. 

“I think I get it,” Enjolras whispered into his mouth a moment later. And Grantaire half sighed. “Last night was…a big deal.”

“Last night was a fucking huge deal, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, his gaze practically soul-searching in Enjolras’ eyes. And Enjolras leaned forward again, kissing him softly.

“Last night was incredible,” he said, quiet against Grantaire’s lips. And he felt the hesitation in Grantaire’s smile. 

“For you too?” he said, quietly. 

And Enjolras pulled back a moment, to look Grantaire full in the face. He brought a hand up, tracing the contours of his face gently, ghosting his thumb over his lips. “Yes. For me too.”

And for a moment, there was doubt in Grantaire’s eyes. And Enjolras took a deep breath before leaning forward, ducking his head to kiss at Grantaire’s throat. The other man hissed a breath when his tongue laved over his pulse-point. 

“For you?” Grantaire’s voice trembled. And Enjolras’s hand traced down his torso, rested on his thigh. And Enjolras came back up and kissed him on the mouth. 

“For me,” he said, steadily. And then Enjolras’s hand moved just inches upward, and Grantaire gasped and lurched forward, nearly missing Enjolras’s mouth in a frenzy to be kissing him. And Enjolras moaned a bit in the back of his throat and leaned forward, pushing Grantaire down onto the mattress, unzipping his jeans in the process, slipping his hand under the denim. Grantaire made an involuntary noise when Enjolras’s fingers brushed the oversensitive skin of his hardening cock. And Enjolras smiled as he pushed his jeans further down, over his hips. And then he ground his hips against Grantaire’s and the other man _groaned_. 

It was fucking glorious. 

And, twenty-three minutes later, when Enjolras lay breathless atop Grantaire’s chest, Grantaire exhaled a gentle: “For you.” And Enjolras nuzzled into the crook of his neck, as a kiss was pressed to his forehead, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I kept seeing stuff on Tumblr about this. So, I thought why not?
> 
> Also, feedback is much appreciated, if you would like. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you have a wonderful evening. :)
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr: http://ecriture-de-la-fangirl.tumblr.com


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